Epistles from the Emperor: Vol I


photo by Clarabelle Fields

Dearest subjects,

Greetings from your godly emperor, his Royal Highness Julius. I am writing to you from the warm comfort of my winter country home. I hope all of you are faring well through this harshest season and looking forward to the sunbeams of spring. I am well, as always. I have a fire to sleep by and many beds and chairs all to myself. More importantly, I have my own throne at last—a proper throne, a regal throne, from which I can gaze upon my empire.

I have to keep close watch over my territories. Outside, there are all sorts of vicious barbarian animals who might try to invade. There are other cats to fend off, passing dogs, skirmishing leaves. One of my servants has made mention of other, even crueler animals in the forests nearby, but I am not afraid of them. I am Emperor Julius, after all, and I rule this place.

Things are going well for my empire right now. I am warm, comfortable, well-loved. The food rations could be larger, but we must count the blessings we have. Beds of ice coat the world outside, and I hear reports of a roaming plague in the human world beyond. My servants keep close to me, for they are afraid. But they are safe here with me, under my protection.

I will keep tireless watch over everything. I will fend off every stray leaf that comes near, every wild threat. As long as I am emperor, no harm will come to my servants. May you all stay safe and warm in the new year, and may your food dishes always overflow with holy kibble.

Signed,

His Royal Highness Julius

Hungry Cat Haiku, Part 2


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photo by Clarabelle Fields 

 

tile floor, bowl is empty

seconds pass in torment

as human watches, cold

 

two minutes, she says

my desperation rises

I am skin and bone

 

I have to survive

starvation imminent

kibble comes at dawn

The Domus Juliana (House of Julius)


juliusmoving2
photo by Clarabelle Fields

Momma knows her Latin well:

poems, history, evil spells

and places where emperors used to dwell

fancy homes of which she likes to tell

 

One of mine, she says, I’ll be calling home

a royal palace, a regal dome

with marble walls and gardens to roam

an imperial palace of my very own

 

There will be birds and sunlight and silken beds

and soft warm spots to set my head

servants will heed my beck and call

as emperor, I’ll rule them all

 

But there’s a journey first, a ride afar

I hate the carrier, loathe the car

I’ll scream until Momma’s seeing stars–

until we’re there: au revoir, revoir!

The Rainbow Blankie


photo by Clarabelle Fields

I love my rainbow blankie–

 

it wasn’t mine, originally,

but that didn’t matter:

 

Momma finished it for me,

and now I am the owner

of her rainbow blankie.

 

It’s a blankie like no other–

rainbow wool and fleece

and bits of handmade memories:

 

a scarf, a sock, a sweater sleeve,

remnants of nights

spent by Momma’s knee

as she worked magic on

a blankie just for me

(unknowingly).

 

It smells like her, and now like me,

where I revel in rainbow dreams

and whiskered tuna reveries

where I chase mice and birds

across imaginary fields and streams.

 

I love my rainbow fleece,

my rainbow dreams,

the blankie Momma made just for me.

 

All for me, just for me.

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